


Until Now Gives Way to Then

by elifisher96



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anxiety, Crying, David Rose is a Good Person, Depression, Eating Disorders, F/M, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POV Patrick Brewer, Panic Attacks, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose, Patrick Brewer needs a hug, Pre-Canon, Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Therapy, blink and youll miss it but its there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:56:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29708514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elifisher96/pseuds/elifisher96
Summary: After calling Toronto's suicide hotline, Patrick finds himself in inpatient care and struggles to accept it.Four years later in Schitt's Creek, David finds the one item Patrick kept from his stay in the hospital.
Relationships: Clint Brewer & Patrick Brewer, Marcy Brewer & Patrick Brewer, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Patrick Brewer/Rachel
Comments: 7
Kudos: 132





	Until Now Gives Way to Then

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning: This work deals heavily with suicide and being hospitalized for being suicidal. It contains a description of a character's plan to commit suicide. Please keep yourselves safe and feel free to not read this if you think it might be triggering in any way <3 **  
> **If you are considering suicide, I beg you to get help.  
> [US National Suicide Prevention Lifeline](https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/): 800-273-8255  
> **[Crisis Center Canada](https://www.crisisservicescanada.ca/en/): 1.833.456.4566 text 45645 
> 
> I would like to give the disclaimer that I have never been hospitalized for mental health. Several of my friends have been, and much of this is based off of what they told me at the time, my own recollections from visiting them, and research. I know that people's experiences of being hospitalized for mental illness varies widely, and I have tried to be as respectful as possible regarding my language. Please let me know if there are any additional tags or warnings I should add to this work.
> 
> Title is from "It All Comes Back" from _Fun Home_

Growing up, Patrick could never quite understand how people ended up in psych wards. Then again, growing up, he never would have imagined that he’d feel so lost that he couldn’t imagine a future and be so uninterested in living his life that he would consider ending it. But here he was, nervously looking around at his room for (at least, and, he secretly hoped, at most) the next four full days in a downtown Toronto hospital’s inpatient psychiatry unit after he’d called Toronto’s mental health hotline and said that he wanted to kill himself.

The room was pretty sparse: just a bed, a small wardrobe, and a chair. Another set of these items was mirrored on the other half of the room, but when he was admitted he was told he’d likely have the room to himself during his stay. He fidgeted with the hospital bracelet on his wrist. It was bright orange and contained very little information: just his name, date of birth, date of admittance, and name of the hospital. But he’d gone to the same hospital’s emergency room the year previously when he’d hit his head on the ice playing hockey, and the bracelet had been white then. He knew that orange meant _psychiatry_. 

Someone knocked on the door to his room. “Yeah?” he said.

Jeremiah, one of the nurses on his care team, came in. “Here you go, Patrick,” he said, putting the small duffel bag Patrick had brought with him when he checked in on the chair. “Everything’s fine. You told us you brought your phone charger with you, so you know that’s with your phone at the nurse’s station, and you gave us your belt, but other than that, none of your items concerned us.”

“Thanks, Jeremiah,” Patrick said tightly. 

“Since it’s your first night, just take your time to settle in, unpack, look around the unit and get yourself acquainted with where things are. Dinner is in about an hour, and then visiting hours start at 6. Are you expecting anyone tonight?” 

“Yeah, my girlfriend. My parents are driving in from near Sudbury, so I doubt they’ll be here tonight.” 

“Good to know. I’ll leave you to it.” Jeremiah backed out of the room and closed the door behind him. 

Patrick got up and put his clothes away in the wardrobe. He put his small number of toiletries on top of it and threw his paperback onto his pillow. Not having anything else to do, he wandered around the ward, noting the room with the television and an ancient computer. He found the bathrooms and the cafeteria and saw an upright piano tucked away in a small common space. The ward was shaped like a square, the nurses’ station taking up the interior, patient rooms lining two opposing sides, with the visiting area next to the doors. 

At 5:00, Patrick went to the cafeteria. He got his food and sat down in a corner, not feeling like trying to talk to any of the other patients. There were a few groups of two or three, and a couple of other people glanced in his direction, but for the most part, he was ignored. He didn’t feel like eating, but there were signs posted saying things like, “Please don’t share food with others” and, “All trays should be returned empty,” so he slowly ate his food, one tiny forkful at a time.

By the time he finished eating, visiting hours had already started. Rachel wasn’t in the visiting area yet, and he was trying to decide whether or not to go back to his room when he saw her red hair through the ward’s door, buzzing the intercom to be let in. He waved to her and she bounded over to him, flinging her arms around his waist. 

“Patrick,” she sighed, almost so quiet he didn’t hear. He could feel her trembling as she held on.

“Hi Rachel,” he said, leaning his chin on the top of her head. “Let’s sit down, okay?”

“Yea, let’s sit,” she said. She turned her face away from him and tried to surreptitiously wipe away the tears that had gathered in her eyes, but Patrick noticed. He led her over to one of the couches and handed her a tissue from a box on the side table.

“Thanks,” she said, dabbing at her eyes. “I’ve just been so worried about you all day. If I’d known…If you’d told me that you were going to take yourself to the hospital, I would have taken the day off, I would have come with you.”

“I didn’t really know that I was going to…I…” He looked around at some of the other patients with visitors, unable to put his thoughts in order.

Rachel gently placed a hand on his cheek. “You what, Patty?”

Patrick huffed out a breath. “I don’t want to talk about this, Rach. I’ve had a long day.”

She let her hand drop. “Of course.”

They sat in silence for a minute. Patrick could tell that Rachel was looking around, looking at the nurse’s station, looking at the other patients. He knew that she didn’t particularly like hospitals, and the psych ward seemed to unsettle her even more than the ER.

Patrick cleared his throat, and Rachel trained her eyes back on Patrick’s. “What did you do today?” he asked, hoping her troubles with her coworkers could take him out of his head for a minute.

“Oh, I mean, I didn’t get much work done today. Between being worried about you, and getting lots of calls from your parents, I couldn’t really focus.”

“What did my parents have to say?”

“They said you’d called them to tell them about this,” she gestured vaguely to the ward. “I mostly spoke to Clint, Marcy seemed a bit upset.”

“I didn’t want to worry anyone,” Patrick mumbled, twisting his hospital bracelet around his wrist.

“Patrick, your parents and I, we love you,” she said. “Of course we’re worried. But between you getting the help you need by being here, and the alternative—” Patrick heard her voice catch and he took her hand “—we’re just so glad you chose to come here.” Her eyes were glistening and Patrick felt guilt wash over him. _They love me and they would be devastated if I was gone,_ he thought. _You’re being selfish, only thinking about your feelings, not considering how other people would feel._ He screwed his eyes shut against the intrusive thoughts. It felt like he was going to cry, too.

Rachel seemed to sense his downward spiral because he felt himself being pulled so his head was in her lap. She ran her fingers softly through his hair and he inhaled the scent of her coconut vanilla body wash. He let himself go, crying softly and silently against her familiar warmth. 

She handed him a tissue. “Here you go,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Patrick wiped his eyes. “I haven’t cried all day, so it was bound to happen,” he said.

“I told your parents they could stay in the apartment,” she said. “I changed the sheets on our bed for them, and I made up the couch bed so I could sleep there. That’s why I wasn’t here right when visiting hours started. Otherwise, I would’ve been here.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “That’s very kind of you, to offer the apartment.” 

“It’s way closer than any hotel,” she said. “Speaking of—” Patrick felt her fingers untangle from his hair to check her watch. “—they should be in the city in about half an hour. And I should probably be in the apartment to let them in. So I should probably get going. I know I wasn’t here long but…”

Patrick sat up and wiped the remaining tears and mucus from his face. “It’s okay, Rachel. You should be there for my parents. I think they need the support more than I do, right now.”

Rachel ran her hand along his spine, looking like she wanted to argue. Patrick could practically hear her saying that he also needs support, that she wanted to be there for him. But before she could say anything, he said softly, “I’ll be okay, Rach. I’m here,” he looked around at their surroundings. “They’ll take care of me. They won’t let me hurt myself.”

She threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. He wrapped his arms loosely around her small frame, letting her rest her weight on his. “You’re so strong, Patrick,” she whispered. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Rachel,” he whispered back, but not for the first time, the words felt empty.

Rachel kissed his cheek and stood up. She gathered her purse and jacket and pulled them on. “I’ll be back tomorrow with your parents, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Bye, Patrick.” She kissed his cheek again, then caught the eye of a nurse who buzzed her out. She gave a small wave, and then she was gone.

* * *

Each day had the same basic structure. Patrick would wake up around 6:30, unable to sleep later even though he wasn’t going to work. He would read until it was time for breakfast, after which he would check the whiteboard at the nurse’s station to see which group therapy rotation he was in, as well as when his individual therapy was and which other group therapy activities were available. He liked the exercise group and music therapy, but when he tried art therapy he just found himself getting frustrated, so he spent most of the time composing short songs and idly doodling guitar chords. Individual therapy rotated between meetings with a therapist to talk about how he was feeling and meeting with the head psychiatric physician and a social worker to discuss his progress. The meetings with the physician were short and he didn’t mind them, but Patrick struggled with individual therapy, finding it very difficult to vocalize his feelings. Other than those activities and meals, there wasn’t much to do. Patrick found himself at the piano every so often, but it was out of tune and lots of keys stuck, so he would get frustrated and leave. He was usually back on the bench within an hour. 

Patrick made a friend, of sorts. On his first full day, after lunch, he was quietly playing piano and humming the song when someone sat down and stared at him for a full minute before he turned to look. 

“Am I…bothering you?” he asked tentatively.

“No! Not at all!” the man said. He looked to be in this mid-40s, wearing a nice sweater and a sensible pair of jeans. “You play beautifully. My friends said you seemed lonely so I should talk to you.”

Patrick looked around, but there was no one else in the vicinity. “Your friends?” he asked.

“Oh!” The man chuckled easily. “They’re in here,” he said, tapping on his temple. “But they were being nice, so I figured there was no harm in listening this time.” 

Patrick nodded, unsure what to say to that. 

“I’m Colin,” the man said, sticking out his hand.

“Patrick,” he said, shaking it. 

“Yea, like I said, you seem lonely. I saw you eating by yourself, and you were really quiet in group this morning, and since you seem to be keeping to yourself, I figured you could use a friend.”

“That’s very kind of you, Colin. Thanks.”

“Of course, Patrick.” 

After that, Patrick and Colin ate meals together. Colin seemed pretty stable (Then again, Patrick realized that _he_ probably seemed very stable, that nearly no one would look at him and think _suicidal_ ), but Patrick noticed that he tended to respond to the voices in his head out loud, making it difficult to sometimes follow the thread of their conversation. 

Besides talking to Colin at mealtimes and talking to various staff members and talking in all the different therapies, Patrick spoke only to his parents and Rachel. They visited every day, waiting outside the ward doors until they could be let in at 6. Every day they each hugged him tightly, Rachel kissing him on the cheek before they all sat down to talk. During his parent’s first visit, Marcy spent nearly the whole time in tears, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. Patrick had seen his mother cry before, but he had never seen her cry about him, and seeing her so upset over something he was planning on doing broke his heart. Patrick saw the worry on all of their faces and could feel the guilt creeping back in, but he tried to ignore it in favor of being grateful to see them. Patrick would describe what he did that day, which group therapy he went to, and where he was in his novel. He pointed out Colin, being visited by his twin daughters and his wife, told them about their hard-to-follow conversations. Rachel would talk about her projects at work, while Marcy and Clint told him about the renovations being done to the house now that they were both retired and had the time to work on them. 

Rachel always made sure to let his parents have some time alone with him, but Patrick honestly wished she wouldn’t. Their conversation would always turn to what was going to happen when he was released. Understandably, his parents wanted him to move back in with them, or at least stay with them for a couple of weeks. They had good reasons for it, besides just having him close by. They were both retired and would each be able to keep an eye on him all the time, and Rachel wouldn’t have to bear the weight of making sure he was safe. He could help out with the renovations if he wanted to, to keep himself busy. But Patrick wanted to stay in Toronto. He was already taking a week off of work, and would most likely need to take the week off after he was let out, too for intensive outpatient care. He knew people at home would ask questions, why he was back in his parent’s house after nearly 2 years. Rachel would hate that he was so far away, unable to take off of work herself. Marcy always looked disappointed when he gave his reasons for wanting to stay, but she always said, “You don’t have to make a decision now. But think about it.”

Mid-afternoon on the fourth full day, he had an appointment with the head physician and his social worker. He knew that this talk would determine whether or not he could go home the next morning, but he also knew that while he felt a little better, it probably wasn’t enough.

He knocked on the door to the consultation room.

“Come in,” Dr. Belsito called. 

Patrick opened the door and sat down on the couch opposite the doctor and Kelsey, his social worker. 

“So, Patrick,” Dr. Belsito said, shuffling a few papers around in the folder on her lap. “You know that when you were admitted you would be here for a minimum of four full days.”

“Yea, I remember,” he said, gripping his hands between his knees to stop them from fidgeting.

“But based on the notes from your therapist and group therapy leaders it seems as though you’ve had some trouble opening up to treatment. Of course, that could be for any number of reasons.” 

“I’ve always found it hard to talk about my feelings,” he said by way of explanation. 

“Sure, not everyone finds it easy to be vulnerable,” Kelsey said. “We were wondering if it was something to do with the therapy, so thank you for clearing that up.” 

Dr. Belsito nodded in Kelsey’s direction. “What we need to know, Patrick,” she said, “is whether or not you would still be tempted to carry out the plan you talked about during your admissions appointment if you were to be discharged from the ward tomorrow.”

Patrick flicked his eyes between the two women. He knew the answer was not an immediate _yes_ , but he also knew that it wasn’t an immediate _no_. He fixed his eyes on his knees and took a deep breath to try to calm the heartbeat in his throat. Slowly, he said, “I can’t honestly say that I wouldn’t be tempted.”

Out of his periphery, he saw Dr. Belsito and Kelsey exchange a glance. “Do you think you could expand on that for us, Patrick?” Kelsey asked.

He forcibly relaxed his shoulders, unaware they had been creeping towards his ears in the first place. “Uhm,” he said shakily. He pressed his knees together more firmly to keep his hands in place. “I think I still want to die. I wouldn’t mind it if I died. I wouldn’t necessarily follow my plan, but I might consider it. Not right away. But I might consider it.” He kept his eyes trained on his knees, trembling from either the effort of pressing them together or from panic, not that he knew which. He realized he was crying.

He saw Kelsey get up and kneel next to his knees, holding out a tissue he was unable to take. She ducked her head to meet his gaze. “Patrick?” she said. “Can you do us a favor and let your hands go?”

Patrick extricated his hands from between his knees, shaking them out to get the blood back in his fingers. Once they could move again, he immediately started twisting his fingers together, squeezing the skin between his thumb and forefinger hard, digging his nails into his palms, and pinching the skin on his wrist. He knew he tended to fidget with his hands when he was anxious, but it had never felt this out of control and he had never felt the need to be this destructive before.

To his surprise, he heard Dr. Belsito hang up the phone, not having realized she had made a call. About 30 seconds later, there was a knock on the office door. Kelsey stood to let them in, pulling open the door to reveal Jeremiah. 

“You called, doc?” he said.

“Yes,” Dr. Belsito said. “Would you wait with Mr. Brewer in the hallway for a minute? Ms. Paff and I need to have a quick discussion.”

“Of course,” he said, walking into the room and leaning down next to Patrick and placing his hands on Patrick’s shoulders. “Let’s go wait in the hallway, yeah?”

Patrick nodded and stood up. He let Jeremiah steer him into the hallway, and once the door was closed behind them, he slid down the wall and rested his head on his knees. His hands were still restless, digging his nails in the soft skin at the top of his forearms. Jeremiah prised his fingers off his forearms, clasping each of Patrick’s hands in his own. 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Patrick muttered to himself, gently banging his forehead against his knees with each utterance. He sensed Jeremiah shift to stop him from hurting himself, so he forced himself to hold his head steady. Patrick knew he was panicking and the panic was making him act irrationally, but it was hard to stop the urge to hurt himself just a little. _That’s why Dr. Belsito called a nurse,_ he thought. _They could tell. I shouldn’t have told them I still want to die._

 _But you told them the truth,_ a small voice that sounded a lot like Rachel said back. _It’s good that you told the truth._

Kelsey opened the door and stuck her head out. “You can come back in.”

Patrick let Jeremiah pull him back onto his feet. He walked back into the office and sat back down on the couch. He saw Jeremiah lean against the wall next to the door after closing it behind both of them.

“Patrick,” Dr. Belsito said. He looked at her. “Based on our conversation and the notes from your care team, Kelsey and I believe it would be in your best interests if you stayed with us in our care for another four days.” Patrick felt his stomach drop. “However, because you do not have any immediate plans to end your life and because you voluntarily admitted yourself, you have the right to discharge yourself. If that is what you wish to do, Kelsey has a plan for your transition back into your regular life, programs we would greatly encourage you to participate in, mental health professionals you should work with, and resources for you and your support network to help manage your thoughts of suicide. But, as I said, we think it is in your best interests to stay for four more days so you can be in a safe environment and continue your therapy and work toward recovery. You do not need to tell us what you decide right now, but in the absence of any indication otherwise, you will still be considered a patient. Do you have any questions?” 

Patrick let all of this information wash over him. “Uhm,” he said, but it came out garbled so he had to clear his throat. “I, uh, don’t think I have questions.”

“That’s fine,” Kelsey said brightly. “If you think of any questions, let the front desk know and they will pass it along to either Dr. Belsito or myself.”

“Okay,” he said quietly.

“If that’s all, Patrick,” Dr. Belsito said, “Jeremiah will bring you back to your room, and then you can do your regular afternoon activities until dinner.”

Patrick nodded and stood up. He gave small smiles to Dr. Belsito and Kelsey, then left with Jeremiah walking beside him.

* * *

That night, there was a new patient in the dining room.

She looked to be about Patrick’s age, possibly a year or two younger than him. She had long, dark blond hair that hung limply around her sallow-looking face. Her clothes seemed too big for her bony frame. She stared morosely at her food, mostly pushing it around her tray with her fork. One of the nurses on duty in the cafeteria walked over to her and bent low, encouraging her to eat. Colin was telling him about something one of his twins was doing for school, but Patrick wasn’t really paying attention. Between what the doctor said and the new patient, he was tense and preoccupied. Patrick tried to not stare at other patients, especially not new ones, but she kept drawing his eye. She was quite possibly one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen. 

After he finished dinner, even though there were only 5 minutes until visiting hours began, Patrick went back to his room. He got back into bed, which was where he’d been all afternoon. He was upset about what had happened with Dr. Belsito, but more than that, he was disappointed. Disappointed in himself that he hadn’t been working hard enough, disappointed that he was still seen as a danger to himself.

He wanted to stay curled up in bed and continue to wallow in self-pity, but there was a knock on his door. “You can come in,” he called out. 

Cala, one of his other nurses, came in. “Your family is here to see you,” they said.

Patrick sighed. He didn’t really feel like talking to anyone, but he knew he needed to tell them what the doctor said and that not showing up would only make them worry. “Okay,” he said, slowly moving to get out of bed.

“You know where they are,” Cala said and left. 

Patrick sat up and took a few deep breaths, then slipped on his shoes and walked out to the visiting area. 

The three of them were sitting on one of the couches, facing away from him. He could see his dad running a soothing hand across his mom’s shoulders and Rachel’s foot bobbing anxiously where her legs were crossed. Rachel must have seen him move out of her periphery because she leaped up and said, “Patrick!” 

His parents turned their heads toward him. “There you are,” his dad said. “We were starting to get worried you didn’t want to talk to us.”

He walked over and hugged each of them. Rachel moved over, making room for him between her and his mother.

“What happened, honey?” Marcy asked. “The nurse said you had a rough day, but couldn’t tell us what that meant.”

Reflexively, Patrick started to pick at his cuticles, and almost at once, both his mother and Rachel had reached out their hands to stop him. He let them take his hands and leaned his head over the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling. “Dr. Belsito said I should stay another four days.” He felt both Rachel and Marcy tighten their holds on his hands. “Because I’m not—I still—” He stopped himself from finishing the sentence.

They were all silent for several long moments. Patrick could feel Rachel toying with his hospital bracelet and felt, rather than saw, his parents turn to look at each other. 

Finally, Clint spoke. “Well, if that’s what the doctor says, that’s what we’re gonna do, right? If they think it would be better for you to stay—”

At that moment, the door to the ward opened and someone said loudly, “I’m here to see my sister.”

Patrick lifted his head off the back of the couch and looked at the visitor. He was tall and striking, his dark hair piled on top of his head in a styled coif. He was wearing a leather jacket over a black t-shirt and what looked like skinny jeans that had once been black but had been soaked in bleach and were now mostly white. His eyebrows were impressively thick. He was undoubtedly the most beautiful man Patrick had ever seen, and if he wasn’t already so preoccupied, he might have felt ashamed at being so taken with another man.

A nurse walked over to the man and said, “For the sake of the other patients and their visitors, could you please lower your voice? I’ll be more than happy to get her for you. What’s her name?” 

The man huffed a breath out through his nose but whispered his sister’s name into the nurse’s ear. She pointed him to a chair and he sat down, crossing his arms and legs tightly. The nurse walked away.

While Patrick was watching this interaction he was unaware that Rachel and his parents were having a conversation across him. He brought his attention back to his own bubble, hearing Rachel say, “I really won’t mind. It’s only a few days and I don’t think I want to be alone in the apartment anyway. It would just feel empty.”

“If you’re sure dear,” Marcy said. “And let us know if that changes.”

“We don’t want to be on top of you,” Clint said. 

“You won’t be, I promise.” Rachel leaned her head on Patrick’s shoulder and kept toying with his hospital bracelet.

The nurse came back and sat next to the man. He looked around, trying to see where his sister was, but when he didn’t see her, he turned toward the nurse. 

“She’s still at dinner. She also said that she didn’t want any visitors.”

“Please, I just want to talk to her,” the man said. 

“If there’s something specific you want to tell her, I could have one of her care team pass it along. Otherwise, you can wait here to see if she changes her mind about seeing visitors. Visiting hours are over at 8.”

“I’ll just wait,” he said tightly, clearly not used to being told _no_. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. 

“Unfortunately, we don’t allow the use of cellular devices within the ward. If you want to use your phone you’re more than welcome to wait in the lobby. We also have some magazines if you’d rather remain in the visiting area.”

“Fine!” he snapped. He picked up a magazine from the table and opened it randomly, clearly a dismissal of the nurse. She raised her eyebrows at his rudeness, but stood up and went back to the nurse’s station behind the front desk.

“Earth to Patrick,” Clint said, gently shaking his shoulder. 

Patrick whipped his head toward his parents. They were both looking at him questioningly. “What?” he said, shaking his head a little to clear the fog.

“We asked if you needed anything from home,” Marcy said. 

“What? Why?”

“For the next four days, sweetheart.”

The conversation with Dr. Belsito came back to him. _We think it would be in your best interests to stay for four more days._ He’d been so focused on distracting himself with the stranger that he’d forgotten what he was distracting himself from. He brought his feet up onto the couch, resting his head against his knees. He pulled his hands from his mother’s and Rachel’s grips and wrapped his arms around his legs. “Oh,” he said flatly. “Yeah. I only packed enough clothing for how long I thought I’d be here. So I’ll need more. And another book. They only allow paperbacks.”

“Do you want anything in particular?” Rachel asked gently, running her now free hand through his hair, playing with some of the curls starting to form.

Patrick shook his head. He felt a lump rise to his throat and he tried to swallow around it but found that he couldn’t. He bit his lip to stop it from wobbling, but he could already feel the tears spilling over. He cried silently, his whole body trembling. Marcy pulled him into her side, rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re gonna be okay. Let it out, let it all out.”

Eventually, he stopped crying, but he kept his head bowed, hiding in the embrace of his knees and his mother’s shoulder. He didn’t want to look at them, didn’t want to see the concern on their faces. So he let himself be held, still trembling against his mother’s side.

“I’m gonna go wait in the lobby for a little bit,” Rachel said. She pressed a lingering kiss to the top of his head.

He felt Rachel get up and his father sat down in her spot. Clint reached across Patrick’s back so that he could hold onto Patrick and Marcy both. “We know you’re disappointed, Patrick,” he said. “You thought you would be leaving tomorrow and you’re disappointed that you’re not. But it’ll be better for you in the long run, staying longer. We just want you to get better, and if staying a few extra days is what makes sure that happens, then…” Clint trailed off, not bothering to finish his sentence. 

“We’ll still come to see you, no matter how long you’re here,” Marcy said. “You matter more to us than anything else.”

The guilt that Patrick had been keeping hidden away suddenly flooded his body. _They love me so much and care about me so much and they would be devastated if I died. I’m being selfish because even knowing that they love me, I_ still _can’t imagine a future for myself, I_ still _want to die. I worried them when I checked into the hospital and I’m worrying them now, they shouldn’t have to worry about me, I should be able to handle this so why can’t I._

Dimly, he heard his mother’s voice. He was finding it very difficult to hear what she was saying and found it even more difficult to breathe. It felt like he had steel bands wrapped around his chest, squeezing his lungs, making it impossible to draw in air. The more he fought to take a breath, the tighter the bands became. His heart was pounding and he was shaking harder than ever. He could feel his mother trailing her hand along his spine so he focused on that, trying to time his breathing to each of her strokes. Little by little, the bands around his chest began to loosen.

“There we go,” Marcy murmured. “Breathe, Patrick. Just breathe. Focus on breathing. In and out, that’s it.” 

“Just letting you folks know that visiting hours are over in 15 minutes,” someone said from behind them. “Is everything okay over here? Do you need any help?”

“We’re fine, thanks,” Clint said. 

“He had a panic attack,” Marcy said quietly to the nurse, “but it seems to have slowed down. I was an ER nurse for 35 years, so I’ve seen my fair share of them.”

“We’ll check his vitals once you guys leave.”

“Thank you.”

He felt his mom shift underneath him. “Patrick, do you think you’re able to sit up?” she asked.

His muscles felt stiff from being locked in position, but he eventually got himself back into a more normal sitting position. He took the tissues his dad held out to him, blowing his nose and wiping at the cool layer of sweat along his forehead. “I’m really sorry,” he whispered. 

“You don’t have to apologize, sweetheart.” 

Patrick nodded mutely. 

“Since visiting hours are almost up, how about I go get Rachel from the lobby so she can say a proper goodbye to you?” his dad said. “And I’m gonna talk to the nurses about bringing you more clothes.”

“I can go get the bag from my room,” Patrick said. 

“That sounds like a good idea.”

Patrick stood up slowly. He felt exhausted and his muscles ached. He stretched, trying to get his brain to recognize the use of his limbs again. Clint stood up with him and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He walked down the hallway to his room and got his duffel bag from underneath his bed. He was tired enough that he could have fallen asleep on the floor, but he knew his parents and Rachel were waiting to say goodbye to him.

As he walked back out to the visiting area, he glanced over to where the man was sitting and found the man staring at him. The man quickly averted his gaze, hastily holding up his magazine again. Patrick wondered how long the man had been staring at him, but he had just had a pretty public breakdown, and he supposed it was only natural that the man’s eyes had been drawn to him when he was crying and struggling to breathe in his mother’s arms. 

Clint, Marcy, and Rachel were all clustered near the ward door. He handed his bag to his dad. “The nurse said we could bring you your stuff in the morning, but you won’t be able to see us when we come by,” Clint said. “And he gave me the guidelines of what isn’t allowed, but he said your stuff would be searched anyway.”

“They searched it when I was admitted too,” Patrick said, scratching the back of his head. He yawned.

“Get a good night’s sleep tonight, Patrick,” his mother said, cupping his cheeks in her hands. She looked him squarely in the eye. “Let them take care of you.” She tilted his face down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “We’ll be back tomorrow.” She pulled him into a very tight hug and he hugged her back with equal ferocity. He hugged Rachel next, and then his father. “See you tomorrow, kiddo,” Clint whispered. The nurse standing beside the door pressed their hospital ID to the sensor so the door unlocked, and they were gone. 

Patrick stumbled over to the couch where he’d been sitting with his parents, exhausted. He leaned on the arm of the couch, resting his head on his palm. He heard the nurse by the door announce that visiting hours were over, and the few remaining visitors, including the man in the leather jacket, gathered their stuff and left. The door swung shut, and with a final click, it was locked.

* * *

Every day, the man with the dark eyebrows showed up for visiting hours, bringing a book with him in case he had to wait. He always stayed for the full two hours. Not once did his sister come out to talk to him.

* * *

On his eighth full day in inpatient care, Dr. Belsito told Patrick that he had made remarkable improvement during therapy, and when asked if he was still suicidal, he was able to truthfully say _no_ without too much hesitation. She and Kelsey agreed that he would be able to be discharged the next morning and Kelsey set up an appointment with his parents to give them resources for how best to support him in his recovery and to collect him from the hospital.

The next day, nine days after he admitted himself to the psychiatric ward, Patrick signed the paper indicating his full release. He knew his journey to recovery wasn’t over—he was participating in an intensive outpatient program run by the hospital, he had consultations with therapists lined up, and he had a meeting scheduled with Dr. Belsito and Kelsey in a month so they could check in on his progress. But he was finally able to imagine a future where he did all of those things. 

He hugged and thanked each of his nurses, his therapist, and Kelsey. He tried to make sure he would remember to write each of them a thank-you note, adding that to his mental list of post-hospital tasks. He turned to Dr. Belsito last, who stuck out her hand and gripped his in a firm handshake. 

“Well, Patrick, we are so glad we were able to help you start your road to recovery. With any luck, you won’t be back here, but we will always be here if you need help again. Shall I walk you out?”

“I’d like that,” Patrick said, smiling. She walked with Patrick to the front door of the ward, pressed her ID to the sensor, and the door clicked open. He pushed the door open, let his parents through first, then with a final wave to the staff, he exited. The door closed behind him. He walked down the hallway with his parents and stepped outside into the fall air. He breathed in deeply. He was looking forward to living the rest of his life.

* * *

**4 Years Later**

Patrick hummed to himself while he brushed his teeth, happy knowing that David was waiting for him in his bedroom. David had loudly proclaimed in the store that he would never sleep there again while Ray was also home because of an incident two weeks prior where Ray walked into Patrick’s room without knocking to find David with his fingers shoved into Patrick’s ass, but Patrick was able to convince him to stay over by whispering seductively about the biryani Ray had promised to make and reminding him that his parents planned to get high with the Schitts that night and when they got high, they got nosey. 

He finished brushing his teeth and rinsed out his mouth. He ran a hand through his hair to shake out any remaining water, then padded quietly down the hallway to his room. 

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he pushed open his bedroom door, but David sitting stock still on the end of the bed, staring at an orange hospital bracelet in his hand wasn't it.

David looked up when he heard Patrick shut the door behind him. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I forgot to bring my phone charger and I was looking in the desk drawers to see if you had an extra one, and this was at the back of one of the drawers.” He held up the bracelet. 

“O…kay?” Patrick said questioningly, a little nervously. “You just seemed to be staring at it really intensely?”

David twisted his mouth to the side, in a gesture Patrick recognized as his “I’m thinking about how to phrase my next sentence in a non-judgmental way” face. “It’s just,” David said slowly, “I recognized it.”

Patrick drew his eyebrows together in confusion. Now _he_ was thinking how best to phrase his next sentence so it wasn’t judgmental. “You…recognize it?”

David nodded. “Yea, Alexis has one. It’s from about the same time too, based on the admission date. She also keeps it at the back of the desk drawer.” He looked up at Patrick, his eyes soft and full of concern. “And you have one.” 

Patrick sat next to David on the bed. He took the bracelet from him, running it through his fingers. He wasn’t sure what to say next. He had two options: stall by trying to see what David thought it signified, or tell him about his hospitalization four years previously. He did fully intend to tell David that he struggled with recurring thoughts of suicide, but he definitely had not been planning on having the conversation that night. 

He chose to stall. “It’s a hospital bracelet, David.”

David let out a small breath. “I know that, Patrick. But this hospital uses white bracelets for people admitted through the ER. I was once, because…well it doesn’t matter why. The bracelet they gave me was white. But Alexis’s is orange because she was on the psych ward for an eating disorder. They only give orange bracelets to people on the psych ward.”

The air was heavy between them, the only sound being their breathing and the gentle swish of paper against skin as Patrick continued to run the bracelet through his fingers. He wasn’t sure if it was going to be him or David who broke the silence first, but while Patrick tried to think of what to say, David whispered, brokenly, “Patrick, were you hospitalized?” 

Patrick nodded once. He turned to face David and saw that his eyes were full of tears. Patrick took a deep breath. “I admitted myself four years ago because I wanted to commit suicide,” he said. “I called the Toronto suicide hotline and they suggested inpatient care, so I went.” 

David was fully crying, the tears leaving glistening tracks along his cheeks. Patrick gently swiped his thumbs under David’s eyes, wiping them away. 

“I’m sorry,” David gasped. “I just—I didn’t realize—"

Patrick shrugged his shoulders. “It’s okay.” 

He pulled David into his chest, letting him cry. He ran his hand through David’s hair and stroked his back, thinking back to his stay in the hospital. How utterly hopeless he felt when he first got there, the worried looks on his parents’ faces every time they visited, the breakdown he’d had when he was told he’d have to stay longer. An image of a man in a leather jacket rose unbidden to the front of his mind. He gasped.

“You were there,” Patrick said.

David sat up and wiped his face. His eyebrows drew together. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were. You were there.”

“Patrick—”

“Not as a patient,” he said, taking David’s hands. “I saw you, every day. You were visiting…” In his foggy memory, a loud voice was saying, _“I’m here to see my sister.”_ “You were visiting Alexis. But she never came out to see you.”

David laughed wetly. “I was the one that brought her to the hospital after she fainted in a club. We were home for my dad’s birthday,” he said. “When I saw Alexis I thought she looked really thin, but I didn’t want to say anything. None of us ate meals together, so I never saw how little she was eating. But she went out clubbing and I got a call from one of her socialite friends that she’d fainted when she got up from a table. So I brought her to a hospital, and once they treated her for the fainting, they admitted her for an eating disorder. She was mad at me for months.”

Patrick nodded. There had been more than one patient on the ward with an eating disorder. Patrick himself had found it nearly impossible to eat while he was there, not because he didn’t want to, but because he just _couldn’t_. He tried to remember the other patients, besides Colin (who he still occasionally texted), but nothing came to mind. “I don’t seem to remember Alexis,” he said. “I was a bit, uh, preoccupied.” 

David nodded his head several times. “I don’t remember seeing you.”

In his mind’s eye, Patrick watched a pair of eyes hastily flick back to reading a magazine, like he’d been caught staring. Patrick closed his eyes, attempting to bring back more of the memory. “You probably don’t remember doing it, but you were staring at me once,” he said. “I was walking, and I looked at you, and you were staring at me. But when I caught your eye, you tried to cover it up by reading your magazine.”

Patrick opened his eyes and looked at David, who had his face screwed up in concentration. “I always brought a book with me because I had a long time to wait,” he said. “Except on the first night Alexis was there. They told me I couldn’t be on my phone.” David shot a look at Patrick, but it was clear to Patrick that David was still lost in his thoughts. “I remember thinking the nurse was very rude. I just wanted to storm in there and grab Alexis and force her to talk to me, ask her how it had gotten this bad. But I was only allowed to wait in the visiting area.” David took a deep breath. “Hospitals, in general, put me on edge. But visiting the psych ward? I did not want to be there. Of course, I would wait there as long as I needed if it meant Alexis would talk to me.” Patrick smiled, his heart warmed by the thought that David would overcome his own feelings of discomfort for the sake of his family. “Just being in the psych ward, looking around at all these people struggling with mental illness…I could imagine just how easily _I_ might need to be there, too.”

Patrick placed his hand on David’s back and idly trailed it up and down his spine. “I never thought I would be hospitalized for mental illness when I was younger,” he said. “But I was. I was terrified to be there, at first. I got used to it, after a couple of days, but then the doctor extended my stay, and I lost it a little. When my parents and Rachel—” David winced, the memory of Rachel showing up in Schitt’s Creek barely over a month prior still fresh, “—visited that night, I had a meltdown.” He paused, remembering. “I think that was the first time you showed up.” 

David searched Patrick’s face. He saw recognition bloom behind David’s eyes. “I do remember you,” he whispered. “You were the group sitting closest to me. I was feeling really uneasy, because I was concerned about my sister and because I was nervous just being there, and then there was this guy sitting across from me who at first glance looked like he was fine, but it seemed like he was barely aware of where he was…and all of a sudden he curled up into a little ball and just started _crying_. Then after he stopped crying he had a panic attack, and the whole thing just really freaked me out.” David’s gaze had been wandering around the room, but he focused on Patrick and stopped talking, realizing what he’d just said. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “But that was you, right?” 

Patrick nodded. “Yea, it was,” he said. “You don’t have to apologize for being freaked out. I’m pretty sure my parents were freaked out, probably more than when I called to tell them I was going to the hospital in the first place. I was really freaked out, myself. I had never lost it like that before, and it was…it was scary.” 

“It’s just that…I had had panic attacks before, even if I didn’t know what they were, and I was wondering if that was what I looked like when it happened to me. I didn’t know why you were there in the ward, and if you were having panic attacks and in the hospital, did that mean that I should be there, too?” He trailed off. “But I remember being really glad that he already had people there with him because if he’d been there alone I wouldn’t have known what to do.” 

Patrick took David’s hands and kissed his knuckles. “You wouldn’t have had to do anything, David,” he said, “But it’s very sweet that you would’ve tried.” Patrick pulled David into his side, who immediately nestled his head between Patrick’s neck and shoulder. Patrick leaned his cheek against David’s hair, breathing in the scent of his shampoo for several long, quiet minutes. 

“Uhm,” David said, shifting uneasily. “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it right now, but…” Patrick felt David gulp. “You said…you said you were there because you wanted to commit suicide.” 

This last part came out in a rush, and it took Patrick a couple of seconds to untangle the words from each other. “Oh,” he said once he’d understood what David had said. He thought for another couple of seconds, but the memories and feelings he’d felt were already on the forefront of his thoughts, so they might as well have this discussion. “I’d be okay talking about it now. But maybe we should actually get into bed first.” 

“That sounds like a good idea,” David said, standing up. “I still have to brush my teeth.” 

While David was in the bathroom Patrick got the room ready for sleeping. He returned the hospital bracelet to its place in the desk drawer and pulled out his extra phone cord for David. He turned off the overhead light, switching on the bedside lamps instead, and turned back the comforter, settling in on his side of the bed. David came back from the bathroom and got underneath the covers. Patrick scooted over, laying his head on his boyfriend’s chest. 

He didn’t know where to start, so he asked, “What do you want to know?” 

“Well,” David said, “I guess the first thing would be…why you wanted to. You know.”

“Kill myself?” 

David nodded mutely. 

“You can say it, you know. If you want to.” 

“I don’t think I do,” he whispered. 

Patrick nodded against David’s chest. “That’s fine. My mom hasn’t been able to either. But, uhm…I was just feeling so…empty. Like there wasn’t anything to live for. When I tried to think about the future, I just could not imagine myself having one. The thought of going on, day after day, nothing changing…it just made more sense, at the time, for me to die.” 

“Did you—did you have a plan?” 

“I did, yea. There was a small pond near the cabin my aunt and uncle had. All of us would always go up to the cabin for holidays, and over summer breaks me and my cousins would go swimming in the pond. But no one lived there full-time, and I knew no one was there when I was coming up with my plan. I was going to leave a note for Rachel, since I lived with her at the time, and another note with her for my parents, telling them where I was and what I was going to do. I planned to take about 50 sleeping pills and then drown myself in the pond. I figured that at least one or both of those things would do it.” 

David’s chest, and Patrick’s head along with it, was rising and falling rapidly. Patrick lifted himself onto his left elbow to look David in the eye and saw that he was crying again. “David?” he said, placing his right hand on David’s cheek. 

David wiped at his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just…I don’t like the thought of you not being here.” He pulled Patrick back into his chest, hugging him tightly. “How are you able to talk so calmly about this?” 

“Lots and lots of therapy,” Patrick said, chuckling a little. David chuckled too. 

Patrick could tell that David was thinking, struggling with phrasing his question. “What is it, David?” 

“I guess…I’m wondering what prompted you to call the hotline? Not that I’m saying you shouldn’t have, obviously you should have and I am so glad you did—but why did you?” 

Patrick had been asked this question by every therapist he’d had and had worked through the morning leading to his hospitalization several times. “Mostly guilt, to be quite honest. I got into my car to drive to work—the office I worked in was a little bit outside the city—and the whole time I was driving I just kept thinking about turning around, writing my notes, and leaving. But then I’d imagine Rachel getting home that night. I’d imagine her trying to call me to stop me, her calling my parents, my parents trying to call me, too…I just kept imagining how they would react, and I felt so intensely guilty that I would do that to them, cause them so much hurt…but I still wanted to go through with it. So instead of going to work I pulled over and googled the suicide hotline. See if they could help me. The person suggested the hospital and then stayed with me on the phone while I went home to pack a bag and until I got to the emergency room.” 

David squeezed him again. “Uhm,” he said but his voice came out higher than usual. He cleared his throat and started again. “Uhm, have you been tempted since then?” 

“Have I been suicidal again since I was released?” Patrick asked. 

“Yeah, that.” 

“Yes, I have been.” Patrick draped his arm across David’s stomach. “I have been several times. It’s usually just like…my brain telling me that I would be better off dead? If that makes sense? I wouldn’t, like, follow my plan, and it usually passes really quickly. But a few months ago, after I had proposed to Rachel and she was starting to plan for the wedding, I just started feeling so much _dread_. I’d think about me being her husband and possibly having kids and I couldn’t see myself being happy at all. And if I wasn’t going to be happy, if I couldn’t see a future that wasn’t just me going through the same motions every day, being absolutely miserable…I started to seriously consider doing it. But, at the same time, I thought that maybe I just needed a change. I just needed to start my life over, move far away, get a new job…and I ended up here, in Schitt’s Creek. I ended up with you.” Patrick leaned up onto his elbow again, kissing David softly on the lips. 

David brought a hand up to Patrick’s cheek, caressing it softly with his thumb. “I’m so sorry you went through all of that,” he said. “Of course, selfishly, it got you here, and I’m so glad you’re here, but…it’s still a lot, for someone to go through.” 

“Well, that’s why I’ve kept the bracelet,” Patrick said. David looked at him quizzically. “As a reminder of what I went through. To remind myself that I was able to recover once. That I would be able to recover again.”

David nodded in understanding, but his face fell a second later. “Do you think you’ll need to? Recover again? In the future?” 

Patrick lowered himself down so he was no longer resting on his elbow, which had started to hurt. David turned onto his side so he could look at him. “I really hope not, David,” he said, rubbing a hand along David’s bicep. “I really hope I don’t need to go to the hospital again for this. But I don’t rule it out because I never know. I can’t guarantee that I will never be suicidal again. All I know is that I’m not right now.” 

“But Patrick…what if you _do_ start feeling like that again?” David asked, his eyes filling with tears again. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered. 

Patrick sighed. “I’ve been meaning to look for a therapist. I doubt that there are that many around here, but I’ve just been so busy since I got here, and for the most part, I haven’t felt down, but,” he shook his head a little, “I’ve never gone this long without therapy since the hospital. I will look for one, David.” 

“Thank you,” he whispered. Their hands tangled together under the covers, and Patrick leaned over so his forehead was touching David’s. 

Patrick wanted to say _I love you,_ but he instinctively knew that saying that for the first time after such an emotional conversation would only scare David. So he stayed silent but he thought it over and over again, _IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou,_ thinking back to the version of himself who’d sat on his hospital bed, scared out of his mind to be there, but scared of what he might have done if he wasn’t. _You’ll have this one day,_ he told his younger self. _Don’t worry. You’ll be okay._

**Author's Note:**

>  **If you are considering suicide, I beg you to get help.  
> [US National Suicide Prevention Lifeline](https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/): 800-273-8255  
> **[Crisis Center Canada](https://www.crisisservicescanada.ca/en/): 1.833.456.4566 text 45645 
> 
> if you are struggling with your mental health, don't be afraid to reach out to people who care. asking for help can be scary but you can do it <3
> 
> Please let me know if there are any additional tags or warnings I should add to this work.
> 
> I'm on [ tumblr](https://elifisher96.tumblr.com/)


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